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taintandviolent · 3 days ago

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Come Out, Come Out ; Jerry Dandridge x reader

summary: You work on the Strip, and recently moved just outside of the city. Your neighbours all keep to themselves, except for one. Your slightly unsettling, but very hot neighbour. Weird things start happening, and you realize he might be a little too desperate to get you out of your house.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 6.1K | SMUT (eventually), female reader, no use of y/n, no descriptions of physical appearance but reader does live in Las Vegas and works at a casino, Jerry being kind of a weirdo freak who fucks with you for weeks, vampire coercion/manipulation/persuasion, wet dreams/nightmares, themes of loneliness, (technically) ownership kink, scent kink, blood kink, blood drinking, biting, vampire sex, vampire/human sex, monster fucking, unprotected sex, p in v.

a/n: not beta-read, we die like men. requested by anonymous – thank you for this delicious idea!! considering most of my fics are quick junk food fics, this is KIND OF a slow burn for me. banners by @/adornedwithlight, @/saradika-graphics, and @/arminsumi!! gif found on pinterest!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Living in a new house on a new block was inherently weird; with most of your stuff still in boxes, you didn't quite feel like you belonged in your house yet, and you didn't feel like you had any sense of community within the cul-de-sac. Your neighbors were cordial enough, but the days of bringing over fresh baked goods to introduce themselves were gone. With your schedule, you were lucky if you saw any of them.

That was fine by you, though. In the two weeks that you'd been there, you were, for the most part, content with the loneliness. Given your occupation and level of people that you interacted with on a nightly basis, you weren't necessarily opposed to alone time.

You had rushed through your shower, you're already running late. You bolt from the bathroom into your bedroom and immediately look towards the window. Said window directly faces your neighbor's window, and the light is on. There's a silhouette in front of the it, in the shape of a man, but due to the way that the window is covered from the inside, you can't tell if he's looking at you or not. You don't want to find out. Your eyes drop to the walkway on the side of the house. There's nothing but trashcans.

Shit. It's Sunday — the trash comes on Monday and you forgot to put them out. Holding the towel to your naked body, you draw the blinds shut quickly and hurriedly dress, before padding down the carpeted stairs.

You throw open the back door and take the bins, one in each hand, and roll them down the walkway. As you carefully and albeit, somewhat clumsily, pull them down your slanted driveway, you notice that your neighbor is pulling out of his driveway. So that's the owner of the big, black truck you hear.

After backing out, the truck comes to a slow halt in front of your house, idling. A brief glance over you shoulder tells you that the window is rolled down, and the owner of it is leaning over the center console. He's mostly obscured by the darkness of his truck, but you hear his voice loud and clear as it calls out to you. "Need any help?"

"No!" You huff. "Thanks! All good!"

A beat, and then you hear the window rolling back up. The truck accelerates slowly, pulling off down the smoothly paved road. Chalk one up for an interaction with a neighbor. At least he was… helpful? With a sigh, you get in the car and drive off, mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead.

–

The next night, the blue-green glow of the television illuminates your sparsely decorated living room, flickering with the changing images. Halfway through a thrilling episode of Forensic Files, you sit on the still-new sofa, scarfing down some Chinese food.

A dull thud against your front door pulls your attention from the TV to the small hallway. You double tap the screen of your phone at your side. It's fucking 11:43. Who the fuck is knocking at this hour? Setting the to-go carton full of chow mein on the coffee table, your thumb jams down into the play button, pausing the show. With a quiet huff, you move the pillow off your stomach and tip-toe to the door.

The peephole reveals a casually dressed man; dark gray shirt and black jeans. You feel a pang of arousal, of immediate attraction, in your core — he's handsome. Pale skin, jet black hair, chiseled features, and a look in his dark eyes that says he wants something. He doesn't look like a serial killer, but then again, they never do. You press your hands against the door, and he moves sharply, staring straight at the door like he had heard you — which was altogether impossible.

Something tells you to check the deadbolt. It's firmly slid into place. Safe.

Your mother didn't raise a moron. Being a single female, all alone in a house? No way in hell you were opening up that door. You ask him what he wants, lifting your voice so that it penetrates.

"Hey," he says. "There's a dog out here! Wandered into my yard. I'd hate to call animal control if it belonged to someone."

You bring your mouth closer to the seam of the door, and speak loud enough that he can hear. "I don't have a dog, sorry!"

You quickly snap back to the peephole, curious what he's doing. He looks down for a moment, then back up. He squints at your door, his top lip snarling slightly. He almost looks… frustrated? A few moments pass, but he doesn't say anything else. When he walks down your driveway, it strikes you odd that he doesn't have a dog with him.

That night, nightmares strangle your subconscious. A tall, dark man whispers, Come out, come out, just outside your door. He's at the front door, at the back door and at your windows. Every where you try to go, he's there. You want to open the door, but you know you shouldn't. He whispers again. Come out, come out.

When you wake up in a panic and covered in cold sweats, you're standing in front of the front door. You were never one to sleep walk, even as a child.

Despite your weird dreams, the rest of the week goes by without any trouble. Your schedule is pretty redundant, but like the loneliness, you don't mind it. You've grown accustomed to it, but still enjoy your days off when they come.

You're in a similar position as last week, but with a styrofoam container of Eggplant Parmesan on your lap instead. When the food was delivered, you'd popped on a horror movie — Let the Right One In. You bring a forkful of food to your mouth, eyes scanning over the Swedish subtitles. You, too, have always wondered what would happen if a vampire came in without explicit permission.

Mid-bite, the screen suddenly goes black, submerging you in total darkness. Shit. As your silly human eyes desperately try to adjust to the darkness, you exhale, frustrated. You turn around on the couch, looking up the stairs. You know you'd left your bedroom light on, but you were met with nothing but the blackness. You stop breathing, listening for the sound of the air conditioning, but that's quiet too. Double shit.

You blindly feel for the table with one hand and carefully maneuver it onto the surface before standing up. As you move from the sofa with a confident step, the corner of the table bangs against your leg, and the bright, searing pain that radiates up your leg nearly topples you forward.

"FUCK!" You hiss, grabbing for your shin as you stumble away from the table. That was going to leave a nasty mark.

You straighten up to flip the lock, and open the door, just enough for the top half of your body to fit out of. The houses across the street are dark, but it is past midnight, so realistically, that's not a good judge of whether or not your issue is exclusive. You look to your neighbor's house. His windows always look dark, confusingly so.

"Everything okay?"

He's standing in the street, keys in hand. Convenient. Stop it. He was probably checking the mail or something.

"Uhhh," you stammer. "My... my power is out."

"Looks that way," he says plainly, looking up at your shadowy house. He takes a step forward, his dark eyes flitting to your bare legs. The cute little pajama shorts you have on aren't hiding much, the fabric bunching up between your thighs. You glance nervously across the street, tightening your grip on the doorknob.

"You know… I'm pretty handy when I need to be. You want me to take a look at your fuse box?"

You consider that. You knew how to check them yourself, but if something was wrong with one of them, you wouldn't know the first thing about repairing them.

"That'd be nice, actually. Thanks!" You push the door shut slightly, but stop when he speaks again.

"You uh… gonna' show me where it is?" He's walking up your driveway now, and you take a step back, shutting the door a centimeter more. You chew on your bottom lip, again, hesitant to leave the security of your home. What if he snatched you? Put a bag over your head and dragged you to his big truck and drove out to the desert to kill you?

"It's… around the left side."

You know how this sounds. It sounds rude and ungrateful, but he did offer. You stand your ground though, and set your jaw bravely. "I'd rather… not, y'know? It's right there, but if you don't want to, I can call the power company."

He looks to the side of the house briefly before breathing out a laugh, seemingly accepting the fact that you aren't coming outside. There's something sinister about his nonchalance, but it's equally as sexy as it is unsettling. "Give me a couple minutes," he says.

You mutter a thanks, and shut the door, sliding the lock into place. Five or so minutes later, your AC kicks back on.

Another work week goes by without issue, but when your day off comes, you're especially happy for it.

–

You spent the day sleeping, as you usually do.

Somewhere after 7:00 PM, you pull your blackout curtains to the side, looking out onto your backyard, which is now submerged in shadow. The bags of potting mix rest against the back wall, waiting for you to rip them open. You bought the two trees four days ago, and they'd been waiting in their burlap sacks for your next day off. Your eyes flit to the setting sun; though it still burns in the distance, it has sunk below the horizon, dipping down past the jagged mountain edge.

Discarding your pajamas into the hamper, you change into a holey, old t-shirt and pair of sweatpants that you cut into shorts and make your way downstairs.

When you open the sliding glass door, the hot, desert air hits you in the face like opening an oven. Despite it being the evening, it's still miserably hot. You scowl as you accept the fact that you'll be sweaty within minutes. Still, this was your you time, and you'd been putting off the gardening for too long.

You grab the gardening bucket on your way out, and walk through your barren back yard. It desperately needed some green. You kneel and begin digging holes big enough for the trees. The ground is tough, but the edge of your trowel is sharp. You manage to get the holes big enough, and make quick work of actually planting the first tree.

"Hey, girl."

Not expecting the voice, you let out a little yelp as you turn, raising the trowel like a weapon. You relax a little as you recognize him; the guy from next door. The impromptu electrician with a penchant for finding missing dog owners, apparently. He looks like he's standing on something, because he's resting his bare, toned arms on the top of the cement wall. You allow yourself a moment to ogle.

"Sorry," he says with a too confident smirk. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," you sniff, and shovel another trowel full of dirt at the base of the lemon tree.

He surveys your work from above the wall. "Citrus. Nice." He looks to you, his nostrils flaring. "You always garden at night?"

You look at your half finished job and give a sharp nod, brushing the dirt from your palms. You awkwardly wipe the sweat from your brow with your forearm and huff a breath. This guy was ready to have a conversation and you were sticky, drenched in sweat. "I work during the day, on the Strip. Girl's gotta' keep her sleep schedule normal, know what I mean?"

"No kidding. Where at?"

You squint at him. He was just making conversation, surely, but you were hesitant to divulge your workplace to a man that you just met. Despite that, you remember that the resort is big enough that even if he came looking for you, he'd have a hell of time finding you — and none of your coworkers would rat you out, either. And triple besides that, he was handsome. What's a little chit-chat between neighbors?

"Ummm. Caesars Palace."

He exhales, pleased. "Hey, I work construction on the Strip. I get it."

You raise your brows, and set the tool at your side. "Makes sense. I figured you did — most people work on the Strip around here. I see you leaving late."

A moment of silence hangs between you two. A cricket chirps somewhere in the corner of your yard.

"I'm Jerry."

You reply by giving him your name, politely. He inhales a deep breath before he grins, flashing a set of pearly whites.

"I'll let you get back to it, huh? Don't work too hard. Too pretty for that."

He disappears from the wall. You stare at the spot where he was for a moment. He didn't ask you over for drinks, didn't intrude. He was just… being neighborly. Right?

You get back to your gardening, mulling over the compliment. Even dirty and drenched in sweat?

When you sleep, you dream of Jerry. You dream of his strong, pale body on top of yours, his hips pressing you deep into the mattress. He drags his nose along every curve of your body — your legs, between your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, your neck — taking deep breaths, like he's inhaling you. Breathing you in and remembering you.

You dream of him fucking you as hard as he can, grunting and growling like something ancient and hungry, and when you wake up, riddled with embarrassment, your cunt is slick. Who dreams of their next door neighbor like that?

–

The next evening, you're in your car, hunched over the steering wheel, near tears. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck —"

A knuckle raps on the window, scaring you out of your depressed stupor. You bolt upwards from the wheel, eyes wide. It's Jerry. This guy has impeccable timing, every time and by that, you mean that he's scared the absolute shit out of you twice. Wordlessly, you open the door and Jerry steps back, giving you some room.

"I think my battery's dead or something. It won't start."

His nostrils flare and he leans casually over the rim of your door, his hand dangling down on the inside of it. He takes note of your outfit; sexy little cocktail dress with nylons and black pumps. You watch as his gaze falls to your legs, and self conscious, you pull the hem of your dress down. It does little to hide anything, though.

Finally, his gaze is back on your face. Looking into your eyes with a sort of sympathy that makes you feel at ease, forgetting about his lecherous staring. "That's too bad. You're working tonight?"

You nod and huff out a frustrated breath. "Unfortunately."

He pauses, then leans further in the door to grip your chin with his thumb and forefinger. It's inherently sexy, but catches you off guard — especially after your dream. You almost reel back, but the coolness and strength of his grip keeps you there. "Let me get my truck. I'll drop you off."

He's slipping away from the car door before you can protest. Your internal alarm system threatens to go off at that little interaction, but you hush it by clarifying that you don't have time to figure it out yourself, or call a mechanic, and a perfectly good solution has fallen right into your lap. It's in your best interest to accept, and you suspect that Jerry won't take no for an answer. Maybe he'll pick me up and put me in his car. No. Stop that.

You push the door open fully and get out, taking your purse with you. You shut the door with your hip, insert the key and twist, locking it. The neighborhood was safe enough, but it was a force of habit — you used to live in an apartment downtown.

The truck rumbles to life, and you walk down the length of your driveway, carefully. Jerry backs out of his own driveway and pulls up to yours with ease. The truck is menacing as it waits for you, but the door opens, inviting you in. You put one foot up on the step and hoist yourself up into the coolness of the cabin.

It takes just under a half hour to get to the Strip and the drive there is cordial. He doesn't touch you again — to your restrained dismay — but he does make small talk, asking about where you lived before, what you do at Caesars Palace, and finally, if you have a boyfriend. The question makes your stomach knot up. Why's he curious?

"The dating scene here is a nightmare," you confess, looking out the window. "I'm sure you get it, but y'know. All the guys that hit on me at work are tourists. Looking for a quick hookup."

Jerry nods, still focused on the road. His features are captivating to you; he's a breath of fresh air from the usual moronic individuals that try to slide tips into your cleavage.

"You want something more…" he starts, expecting you to finish.

"…more eternal, I guess. In it for the long haul. I'm not looking for a pump and dump. Excuse the expression. I'm a romantic at heart."

He tenses suddenly, you see him grip the steering wheel hard and furrow your brows. Did you upset him?

"Cute," he finally says, pulling into the Uber drop-off section. He unlocks the door with a jab of his longer, slender finger.

"Hey, thanks, Jerry. This really means a lot." You open the door and jump down, landing firmly on the platform of your your high heels.

He nods. "Not a problem. All I ask…"

You pause, looking back up into the truck with wide, expectant eyes. Your stomach twists with anticipation, knowing what comes next. He was a man, after all. Good intentions are always laced with lust.

"Don't be a stranger. I don't bite. Unless you ask for it."

Your brows lift high on your forehead. That wasn't entirely what you had in mind, but you keep the thought to yourself. "Oh, uh. Sure. I promise. Bye."

You shut the door and he pulls back out into the flow of traffic, muscling his way in confidently.

Unless I ask for it?

You spend the rest of your shift thinking about him, about that. Maybe a little too much. Decidedly so, because you gush to your coworker on the way home. You give her twenty bucks for gas, and for the half-hour of yapping that she puts up with.

–

The next morning, you set an alarm. Call AAA. They come out, replace the battery and you finish out the rest of the week without seeing Jerry. You see his truck, see him leaving around the same time as you every night, but there aren't any interactions. Unfortunately.

It's something that drives you crazy, actually. You think about him every day, and wonder why, after all that trouble, all that generosity, he'd just ghost you. Maybe you didn't reciprocate enough, so he backed off. Guys did that.

On your next day off, just after sunset, after hyping yourself up in various ways for about an hour, you're wandering across his driveway, drinks in hand, phone tucked in the back pocket of your jean shorts. You feel like an idiot knocking on his door, assuming that he's interested, assuming that he has the same days off as you, assuming that any of this will even work.

Jerry opens the door while your knuckles are still up, mid-knock. He's in a dark green shirt, black jeans again. He doesn't seem as bothered by the heat as you are. You try not to stare, but the way he's looking at you has you pulled in, like he's wrapped his fingers around your jaw and is forcing your gaze. You wouldn't mind if he did.

"Hm. I was just thinking about you."

Your head jerks back slightly, surprised by that.

"Really?" you ask, somewhat breathless. "Are you um…. busy?"

"Just watching some TV."

"Oh," you breathe, slightly dejected. He didn't say no, and the overwhelming feeling that you're interrupting something pervades your head.

"Cider, huh?"

You look down abashedly at the six-pack of Angry Orchard in your right hand. The brown bottles are sweating and you bark out an awkward chuckle. "Yeaaaah… I bought what I drink. These are uh…" You pause, looking at the carton. "Green apple. I've grown to hate the smell of most beer, sorry."

Jerry's grin tightens at that, and he steps aside, inviting you in with a jerk of his head.

Suddenly delighted, your shoulder brushes past Jerry's chest as you pass him, with just enough touch to feel intentional. He shuts the door behind you. He doesn't lock it — there's no need for that. With a firm, cool hand on the small of your back. As if you had any intention of running back out the door.

You're somewhat relieved to see that his place is minimally decorated, too. The windows are blocked out with brown paper, but there's a couple lamps illuminating the room. A leather chair with a simple ottoman sits across from a flat screen TV that's turned on. Jerry notices you surveying his home and sidesteps you, feigning embarrassment. You can tell it's not genuine; he doesn't really seem like the type to care.

"You'll have to forgive the state of my place. Haven't had a lot of time to decorate."

You chuckle as you walk deeper into the living room, dismissing it with a wave of your hand. "Mine isn't much better. Boxes galore."

You lift the beer up between your bodies, grabbing two of them with your other hand. Jerry hooks two fingers around the cardboard handle, pulling the box from your grasp. With a flick of his dark brows, he disappears to the kitchen. Feeling awkward just standing in his living room, you follow him, watching wordlessly as he puts the remaining four bottles into the fridge.

A few moments later, Jerry shuts the door, and you pass him one of the bottles silently. He cracks it open, tossing the cap onto the counter.

"I'm glad you're finally here." He says, his voice low and deliberate.

Your mouth twitches slightly. "Finally?"

"You're pretty tough, you know that?"

You swallow another mouthful of the sweet alcohol, pinching your brows together. Something clicks in your mind. Something ugly. You blink, trying to discourage your thoughts from manifesting plainly on your face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're cautious. Most girls," he starts, looking briefly towards the living room. "…they'd come out without even thinking."

"Why, because you're hot? Are you used to that?"

He raises his thick, black brows as if to confirm what he just heard.

You titter nervously, and look down at the label of the bottle, peeling at the corner of it with your thumbnail. "Is this the part where I say 'I'm not like most girls'?"

Jerry snorts. Takes a sip of his cider, and then promptly sets the bottle down on the counter, too. You hold each other's gaze as he approaches you, feeling suddenly like you have a target on your chest. He doesn't speak until he gets to you. "You could, but you'd be stating the obvious." He's standing in front of you now, your bodies almost touching.

Your stomach clenches, your face flushing with heat. "I almost didn't, you know."

"But you did."

The backs of his fingers brush over your cheek, then slide fluidly behind your neck. His touch is cool, and comforting, like a familiar lover.

"You came because you wanted something… what did you say before? Eternal."

You did say that.

He leans in, his nose bumping into yours gently. His lips brush yours, not quite kissing you. Not yet. Your breath hitches in your throat. You've been this close to men before, both by choice and by drunken confidence on their part, and they always radiated heat. Without fail, you could feel the warmth cascading off their body in waves, but not Jerry. Pinned between him and the cool mental of the refrigerator, a chill runs down your spine.

"Poor choice of words, I guess."

"No," he says, leaning his head back just slightly. "You know what you want, what you need. You're lonely," he adds, positioning his feet outside of yours. The action puts his hips against your own. "All those long nights… men throwing themselves at you with no real intention of keeping you."

He reaches up again, sliding his fingers up behind your ear, into your hairline. The feeling sends a shudder down your spine. His thumb brushes along your cheek, back and forth. Gently. Lovingly. A comfort settles over you as you gaze into his dark, almost black eyes.

"I'd like to be kept," you confess, letting your eyes fall to his mouth. Where's this honesty coming from? You'd had two sips of cider.

Despite the fact that you're staring at his lips, he doesn't kiss you. It's not from nerves, you can tell that much. He's just waiting. Like a spider who has clocked a beautiful, sweet moth flying too close to his web, and he's just… waiting.

You, on the other hand, can't wait any longer. With your heart pounding, you crush your mouth hungrily against his. Jerry kisses you back with precision, with intent and your knees immediately feel like Jell-o. As he deepens the kiss, tangling his wet, cool tongue with yours, he tastes like cider and iron. You aren't sure why. Without breaking the kiss, Jerry takes the bottle of out of your hand and sets it on the counter behind him.

As the kiss continues and your hands now free, you snake your fingers up his shirt. They crawl against the sculpted planes of his stomach before flattening on his chest, pressing between his pectoral muscles. You move your hand to the left slightly.

There's nothing.

No beats. No thuds.

You press harder.

Nothing. You feel Jerry smile into the kiss.

You pull back, an insecure question frozen on your tongue.

He smiles fully now, lets half of a chuckle tumble out of his open mouth — and this time, those pearly whites have changed. His incisors have grown long and sharp.

What… what the hell?

The thoughts begin to thread themselves together in your head. Your eyes search his face as you brain pieces everything together.

The way you only saw him at night — not because he worked on the Strip, but because he couldn't go out in the sunlight. All the helpful, neighborly gestures. The normal response would've been to invite him in. He was waiting for that… but it never came. So he had decided to try to lure you out.

The dreams.

The "lost" dog. He probably never had one — animals probably wouldn't come within one hundred feet of him — but it was a good way to get you out of the house.

Cutting the power. Another good way to get you out in the open and vulnerable with him.

Screwing with your car. A classic move — but it got you into his space, into his orbit. He must've exercised a lot of strength with that — you recall the way he tightly gripped the steering wheel as he drove. He was hunting you, in the politest way he knew how.

And then�� the ignorance. He didn't bother you again, but he knew that eventually, you'd come around.

"Now, you're getting it," he says, watching the gears turning. He says your name like an incantation.

"I should leave." The words are barely above a whisper, but he hears them anyway. Your eyes don't leave his though, you don't look longingly towards the door. You stay focused on him, unable to move. Your brain is screaming at you to leave, to run, but your body aches to feel him against you again, to feel the hunger beneath his touch.

"You won't."

It's less of a threat and more of an observation. He knows you better.

"You're not going to run from this… from me."

Your mind echoes his words. You won't.

"You're aching for this," he adds. You were.

It really should've frightened you. You should've bolted towards the door. But… what was more eternal than this? And what would you have done? Called the cops? Told them that you lived next door to a vampire and he was going to eat you?

Jerry's grip tightens on the side of your neck. "You know you want this. You won't be lonely anymore. You'll belong to me."

It sounds so good coming out of his mouth, said in his deep, soothing voice. It sounds so good. Starting at the fingertips, you start to relax, your muscles easing back into the feeling of want. Jerry closes in the distance, pressing his mouth against yours. His tongue prods the seam of your lips, and you open them. You crave the taste of him again — that ancient, indescribable iron taste. Your hands fly to his neck, just feeling the cold, marble-smooth skin beneath your fingertips.

The kiss is hungrier this time, and you know it's because he's not pretending anymore. You relent into the kiss, moving your tongue along the sharp points of his fangs, and one of them catches your tongue just right. Hot blood flows into both of your mouths, and the change in Jerry is immediate.

He feels bigger around you, like his atmosphere is swallowing you whole. His teeth grow just a little bit sharper. Underneath the pads of your fingers, thin veins raise ever so slightly, stretching down the length of his neck. The way that he moves against you is altogether primal.

Without warning, he bends down and picks you up, hoisting you up into his strong arms and in response, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you, moving quickly through his house. Though his grip is secure, you feel the way his body moves. You open your eyes, and see the door — you're going up a set of stairs.

The layout of his house is similar to yours, familiar in the way it's designed. His bedroom is dark and cold and equally as plain as the rest of the house, but your attention is jolted away from all that as he tosses you back on the bed. Your back bounces atop the mattress a few times before you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching Jerry. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing toned muscle and more pale skin, contrasting starkly against the darkness of the room. He undoes the buckle of his belt, sliding it through the loops of his jeans and your eyes drop to the lower part of his torso. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Jerry stills. Looks at you. He does that amused, half-smile you've seen him do countless times and moves towards the bed, walking his hands on either side of you. "No."

"Is it going to hurt?"

His answer comes in the form of a kiss; he urges his mouth against yours, pushing you back against the duvet with a controlled sort of strength. You're in no position to fight against him, not with the arousal that coils in your stomach like a serpent.

Jerry undresses you slowly, peeling each layer of clothing off in a reverent way, until he reaches your jean shorts. He unbuttons them, grips the top, and pulls both them and your panties down in one fluid yank. They're discarded off the side of the bed and wordlessly, he crawls on top of you. His body brings no warmth as it presses against you, but with the way that your skin burns, you're grateful for the sensation.

Somewhat crudely, Jerry pinches your jaw and pushes your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. Starting at the hollow of your collarbone, he sniffs along the length of your neck, his tongue darting at somewhere in the middle to taste the sweetness of your flesh. You shiver as he opens his mouth against the column of your neck, and huffs loudly, exhaling a hard, aroused breath against your skin. One of your hands grips the duvet, gathering the fabric tightly in your fist, and the other claws at the space between his neck and shoulder, nails leaving indentations on the skin. He urges his hips against you, and when you feel the hardness that presses into your core, you're upset that he's still wearing those tight, black jeans.

"Fuck…" you murmur, wanting to reach out and touch it.

Jerry snarls, and his fangs prick against your flesh. You freeze. This is it. You close your eyes tightly, and tighten your grip on his covers. You've made peace with it.

Zip.

Then, a warm cock head teases your aching entrance, slipping between the slick folds a few times. Your lids snap open, and you stare up at Jerry, though he's looking between your bodies instead.

"You're soaking wet." His voice is laden with lust and hunger, and it makes your cunt twinge with heat.

You blink and let out a little mewl at the feeling of his tip bumping against your clit.

"You aren't going to bite me?"

"Oh," he breathes, laughing once. His brows pinch together like he's almost sympathetic. "I am."

He sheaths his thick cock inside you in one harsh, but easy push. Your back arches up off the bed, a strangled cry falling off your lips. "Fuck, oh my god!"

His hips find a bullying pace quickly, his hips slamming into you with a ferocity that you've never experienced from any human man. Paired with your desperate moans and his low grunts, the sounds of your bodies are explicit and fill the quietness of the room. He fucks hard enough that your eyes roll back in your head, lids fluttering helplessly as he uses you.

He hits you in all the right spots, and your hand abandons its grip on the sheets, weakly reaching for his other shoulder. Your eyes open to look at him, watching him as he ruts into you. Though his eyes were dark to begin with, now they're really black — and the blue-green veins in his neck are more prominent. His mouth hangs open slightly, revealing the points of his fangs. Your cunt clenches at the visual — something that you don't expect. That alone makes your cunt pulse with arousal. You're close, and his nostrils flare.

Jerry leans forward, nuzzling his nose against your neck. "Worth the wait."

He draws his hips back slowly, slipping out of you with a wet pop. You whimper at the emptiness. He opens his mouth against your neck again, and his hips slam back into yours as he bites down as hard as he can, puncturing the flesh. Though the sensations overlap each other, you let out a plaintive moan at the hot ache that starts in your neck. It's not enough to deter you though, digging your nails into his flesh, your cunt spasms around his cock, drenching him in your orgasm.

Warm blood squirts into his mouth in strong pulses, and streams down the side of your neck, onto his darkly colored pillowcases. Jerry's tongue laves over the wounds, and he drinks you down in desperate gulps. His hips continue to buck as he comes hard a few seconds later, emptying himself inside you.

After a few moments, after the world starts to get blurry, Jerry pulls himself off your neck, breathing hard. Blood coats the lower half of his face, and ribbons down his neck. You blink lazily, feeling… comfortable.

"You're shaking," he says. Amused. Almost tender, but not quite.

You don't have enough strength to look down at your body to see if he's right.

His weight is suddenly gone from on top of you. Your eyes drift close again, and this time, stay shut. You hear him exhale through his nose, something like a laugh as he moves away, and you instinctively flip over on your side, like you would at home. Comfortable. Shameless. Relaxed.

As the coolness of the room settles on your body, you dream of Jerry again. The dreams are different this time though, laced with a different kind of hunger, with need. Somewhere in the middle of the night, you feel his body next to yours.

So this is what it feels like.

To be kept.